


By Arrangement

by PeachGO3



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Good and Evil, Historical, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 00:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19188385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: An angel and a demon come to an arrangement. One of my favourite scenes from the book, written-out and slightly altered to fit the TV adaptation’s characterisation.





	By Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> “Crowley had said, That’s lunatic. No, said Aziraphale, it’s ineffable.”  
> That’s one of my very favourite quotes from the book, so I thought, why not write out the small scene where the two come to their Arrangement with its capital A. Enjoy ♡
> 
> edit: As I did with Days With Thee, I un-tagged the TV series on this one because I wrote it in the spirit of Crowley's and Aziraphale's book developments. I figured it's only fair to give people who prefer different characterisations the opportunity to filter things better :')

The spring of 1020 A.D. was warm and dry, at least where Crowley went. He hated April weather. But wherever he was, the chance of having a day spoiled by rain were fairly low. Usually it was his _job_ to spoil it, but he didn’t get a note this year, so he could just as well join the Easter festivities.

The sunshine was tickling in his face as he strolled around the small town of Bamberg, Regnum Teutonicum. Doves were curring by the well. Crowley smiled contently as he watched the townspeople pass by, just as he had watched the white clouds pass by when he was lying in the meadow earlier this day. Everything counted, it looked as if this year’s Easter would be peaceful for once. (Except for maybe a wicked pig or so, we’ll see.)

That is, until the well beneath him started bubbling and boiling. The doves fled, flapping their wings in panic. Crowley sighed. “Yes?” he said in a lousy attempt at his business voice.

“Crowley.”

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“Dagon, Lord of the Files, Master of Madness,” the well babbled.

“Dagon,” Crowley smiled uncomfortably and performed a little miracle to make people not look at the well. He sat down on the edge and looked down – fish smell. So, yep, this was Dagon. “What is it, milord?” he asked downwards.

“It’s about Melus of Bari,” her voice growled from beneath. “I suppose you’ve met him?”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley lied.

“He’s coming your way, with the Coat. Should arrive in three days.”

“Okay.” There was a pause. “You know about the Coat, Crowley, don’t you? The opposition has sent it to accommodate the quarrel in Lower Italy. Our sources say that Melus ought to gift it to the Emperor.” Frantically, Crowley searched his memory. What coat?

“Crowley.”

“Yes.”

Dagon exhaled, which manifested in a giant bubble bursting in the dark water. “The handover mustn’t happen. Kill Melus before the fight can be accommodated.”

“Right. Melus of Bari, right?”

“Yes.

“Will do! Talk to you later.”

The bubbling ended, but the fish smell stayed. (People would not use this well for several years.) Crowley sighed and cursed under his breath. So, he had to kill some poor fellow? Why can’t he have a break? “Happy Easter,” he said to himself and kicked a dove.

 

* * *

 

April 24 was a nice day, sunny as ever. A Monday. Crowley had returned to his favourite place in Bamberg, the meadow just outside of town. The old willow tree provided shadows, and the few sunrays that passed its green leaves danced in the cool water of the brook. Perhaps Crowley would’ve noticed them sooner, those tickling waves of love, if he wasn’t so worn-out. A familiar voice woke him.

“Oh, my dear, I knew it was you.”

Crowley opened one yellow eye. So it was the angel, huh? His long white overcoat almost merged with the hanging leaves of the weeping willow, and the sun danced on his angelic face with such joy that Crowley looked away again. “Hello,” he said simply.

Aziraphale stepped closer, cautiously, but Crowley allowed him to sit down beside him.

“I spotted you, some days ago, during the Easter festivities,” Aziraphale said with a smile. The love and excitement he radiated was almost too much to handle for Crowley and his tired skin. “I was eating bread with the baker at the market, his bread is the absolute best. But, to be honest with you, you did not look very well, so I figured it might not be a good time to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” Crowley just said. Aziraphale had been absolutely right. “How considerate,” he added with a hiss.

“Are you not well?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m fine. Your worrying makes me question your position,” Crowley joked, but Aziraphale straightened up: “You know, I am worrying. Although I set them up perfectly, you just thwarted our Devine plans. You should be feeling great.”

Oh, so his angel had been involved after all, of course. Crowley shifted and finally tried a smile. “Yeah, wasn’t that much of a blast. The coat was nice, though. Your idea, I presume?”

“It was, thank you,” Aziraphale said. He seemed flattered by the compliment and radiated great love, but those feelings seemed to clash with his conscientiousness. But he made no attempt to shame the demon for ‘thwarting’ the plan. “The Coat of Stars,” Crowley sang to distract him, “really nice. Rather poetic.”

There was a pause. “I wonder where it is right now,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh, I have it,” Crowley murmured and shifted in the grass.

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I ought to burn it, but that seemed like a real waste of dressmaking talent. So I kept it.”

The angel’s face lit up with warmth and thankfulness. He was so sweet, Crowley thought, so sweet and yet so dangerous. His hand started prickling, and he quickly drew it away from the angel. “Then it shall be yours. It amazes me,” Aziraphale smiled, “that you tend to do such good things, Crowley. It’s against your very nature.”

“Is it?” Crowley asked and observed the brook, whispering and rippling. A fish passed by. He had thought about it, of course he had. He liked people. Major failing in a demon. He liked humans, and he liked Earth. And most terrifying of all, he liked Aziraphale. He could only pray his people would never find out about those feelings. He shivered. “I don’t seem to do well as a demon,” he whispered.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose it is a bad thing for you. Or, good, rather. You know what I mean.”

“But you’re not a very good angel either,” Crowley said to his defence – Aziraphale could be just as dangerous and wicked as his own lot – although the angel didn’t want to hear it. He smiled thinly as he asked Crowley to elaborate.

“Where should I start? You gave away your flaming sword-”

“But that was good! You’ve got nothing against me. In the end, it was good.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Crowley said with a smile. “You went against your superior’s will, but you did the right thing. By doing something bad.”

“But I don’t want to be good by doing the bad thing,” Aziraphale whined. He was visibly upset, but straightened up right away: “Anyway, we don’t get to decide these sorts of things. Humans do. When a human is good or bad, it’s because they want to be. Whereas creatures like us are set in their ways right from the start.”

“Where did you get that, angel?” Crowley laughed.

“It’s God’s work,” Aziraphale said simply. “It’s ineffable.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“But it’s true! Humans have free will.” Ahh, yeah, that free will stuff. “And it grants them great power.”

“But humans ought to be good, don’t they?” Crowley asked in irritation. “Holy, even.”

Aziraphale thought about that for a while. Then he recited, “Humans can’t become truly holy, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked. They can decide what they want to do on their own.”

“But so can we,” Crowley replied with emphasis, because he sensed that the angel wasn’t buying that stuff himself. Aziraphale sighed and gave him a worrying look. “Do you think so?” he asked.

“I do. Case in point, I’ve saved that beautiful coat.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment. Then, cautiously, he said, “Which leads us _there_ again.”

“Finally,” Crowley hissed and rolled around to face Aziraphale straight on, “finally you mention it.”

“I’m not saying we’re doing it,” the angel backtracked, “I’m just saying that it might be worth a try. We can discuss it. Since we’re both here.”

“Great,” Crowley hissed in excitement. They had talked about this before. About doing each other’s deeds to save time and effort. Aziraphale wasn’t too keen on doing a demon’s work, he had refused over and over, but today was different. _Finally_. Finally Crowley felt that tempting him would be successful.

“You see,” Aziraphale said in a business voice, “I have a small miracle to perform over in Paris. Some poor guy’s invention won’t work properly if I don’t go there. But Bamberg’s bakery is too good to leave now. So…”

“So you want to send me to Paris?” Crowley asked. Somehow, he was disappointed that Aziraphale wasn’t going to do any demonic work in. Later, for sure. “I’ll do it,” he smiled, “and then you owe me one demonic miracle.”

Aziraphale’s face twitched, he was scared and looked around. But they were safe as usual, and the weeping willow shielded them even more conveniently. Crowley held out his hand. “Come on, angel. It’s nothing, they will never find out. They just care if the work gets done, we’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale eyed his hand, but took it, eventually, and the touch transmitted his waves of love to Crowley’s body. It tickled and made the leaves above them whisper. “Great,” the demon hissed. “Just tell me the details and I’ll be on my way.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale smiled and let go. “Then… maybe we could go for some dinner now.”

“Eating is nice distraction from your horrors,” Crowley agreed, grinning.

“That’s not what I… nevermind. You have to try that granary bread. And while eating, we will have a briefing about Paris,” Aziraphale smiled.

 

* * *

 

Crowley liked their little arrangement. He enjoyed doing Heavenly miracles. Paris was nice. He could send some rats on their way and help poor Pierre with his invention the same day. Making humans smile was nice, because usually, it made him smile as well. Pierre’s agricultural machine was a clever invention and made funny sounds. Humans had great imagination.

Crowley really, really liked humanity.

But he could not let go of that one question. It was in his head and had planted itself like weeds, spreading and spreading further, creating new questions. Questions. The very thing that had caused him to… leave Heaven.

_People couldn’t become truly holy, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked._

How could that ever work?

To his luck, Crowley met with Aziraphale soon after (in the late summer of 1023) in the small town by a river that was Paris at that time. The town was surrounded with golden cornfields and scattered people doing their everyday work.

“His machine works brilliantly,” Aziraphale said to greet Crowley, who was making his way through the barley rather awkwardly. “You’re welcome,” he hissed and stood beside the angel. Aziraphale smiled and looked back to the wide field. Crickets were chirping and the sun had already tainted the sky in warmer colours than its usual blue.

“So, you did well with your little miracle then?” Aziraphale asked happily. “Technically it’s your miracle,” Crowley corrected and returned the smile. “But thank you nonetheless.” He felt the love waves calming him, when really they should alarm him that his enemy was around. He had missed this comforting feeling.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley continued, “before I ask you for something in return, we have to get one thing straight.”

“And what might that be, my dear?” Aziraphale asked as he observed the peasants, watching over them.

“About that free will thing… y’know, people having an equal chance of being good or bad,” Crowley began, trying to find an appropriate blend of nonchalance and seriousness, “there’s something I don’t understand about it.”

Aziraphale smiled and turned to him, as if ‘free will’ was his specialised field out of all the Godly doctrine. “Ask away.”

Crowley sucked in a breath and decided to tell Aziraphale the long story. His doubts, his questioning. Him sitting on a rock for four months straight because he thought too long about human nature and how he still didn’t understand it. And what that meant for humans themselves. By the time he had finished (and had come close to unburden his heart to the Adversary), the sun had set.

They decided to go on a walk through the cornfields as the west wind moved upon them, gently whispering. The moon lit the hills around them and the night was auspicious and sweet with late summer’s scent. Totally different than the dirty, overly populated town of Paris. “So, you’re wondering why humans can be equally good as they can be evil?” Aziraphale concluded.

“Exactly. Like, just when you’d think they’re more malignant than Hell could ever be, they can occasionally show more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of. And not seldomly, this could be the same person,” Crowley murmured, careful not to babble. Aziraphale listened, hands behind his back. They rambled and rambled and eventually Crowley said, “Everyone has an equal chance to become something, but they don’t start out equal, like, at all.”

Aziraphale raised his head. Apparently, he had never thought about it this way.

“Like, free will only works,” Crowley continued, careful to keep his voice low in this starry night, “if you start everyone off equal, right?”

“Keep talking,” Aziraphale prompted gently.

“What I’m saying is,” Crowley said and stopped walking to face Aziraphale, “you can’t start someone off in a muddy shack in the middle of a war zone and expect them to do as well as someone born in a castle.”

Aziraphale stopped, too, and considered what Crowley had said for a few moments. Crowley was almost proud of himself for rendering his angel speechless and smiled. And that smile must’ve caught Aziraphale off-guard, because the angel’s eyes fluttered and his breath was erratic when he said, “Crowley, you’ve come to the core of it. This is actually the best part about free will. The good bit. It says: The lower you start, the more opportunities you have.”

Crowley huffed. “So, you’re saying that if someone has basically nothing and lives like a rat, they can be good by being grateful for what little they have?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, as if he wasn’t so sure about it either.

“Even if they’re being sent to some war, some Holy War possibly, as cannon fodder, being exploited, persecuted, killed?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, softlier this time. He gave Crowley a concerning look, prompting the demon to look down. Crowley said, “That’s lunatic.”

“No,” said Aziraphale, all gentle, “it’s ineffable.”

Crowley sighed. “I hate it when you use that word,” he said, to which Aziraphale chuckled. They continued their walk in silence, until Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm. “Wait a minute, angel. When lesser humans develop Heavenly virtues, that’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes.”

“And when, say, highborn people aren’t grateful and devout, but demeaning and bloodthirsty, that’s a bad thing, right?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Aziraphale said, but regretted his answer right away, because he now realised what Crowley was hinting at. “Angel,” he said with great worry, “that means our deal is good for me-”

“Rules of free will do not apply to us, Crowley, I told you that.”

“- and absolutely terrible for you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You might end up, you know,” Crowley uttered, “falling from grace.”

“I knew that when I said yes, dear,” Aziraphale replied.

“No, yes, I knew that,” Crowley said and gestured vaguely, “but I mean ‘falling’ as in… for real. Like, like…”

“Like you did?” the angel whispered. Crowley swallowed. He did not want that. “That mustn’t happen. If the Ineffable Plan is as grand as you say it is, then you could get in very serious trouble after all, angel.” Not only would he be to blame for his own Fall by questioning God, but for the Fall of an angel like Aziraphale. His angel.

“We can’t have that,” he said with finality, but Aziraphale just smiled at him. It was that peculiar angelic smile full of bliss and love, the one that made Crowley almost melt away everytime he saw it. “We can, Crowley, dear. It’s alright, I’m fine with doing your work once in a while. If it saves you time and trouble.”

“No. No way. I’m not going to let you Fall.”

“I am greatly flattered by your worrying for me. But as you’ve said, I owe you.”

“A dinner would make up for it, angel.”

“We’ve made an arrangement,” Aziraphale said with a nervous flutter of his eyes.

“So? It’s not a demon deal, it can be broken,” Crowley countered, but Aziraphale’s tender expression silenced him in an instant. The angel’s face softened even further when he said, “It’s our Arrangement, Crowley. You were the one who told me we would be fine, weren’t you?”

Crowley sighed. Fear wasn’t like him. But now he feared for his angel. The fear crept into his mind and held him hostage in cold, sharp claws. But he did not speak of it again.

“Tell me about the missions you get,” Aziraphale said, trying to be more relaxed now, “while we visit a tavern downtown. How does that sound?” He faltered. “Oh, sorry, no, that’s tempting. Your job.”

“It’s ours now,” Crowley smiled wearily and offered his arm. Aziraphale took it and they returned, walking by the river Seine that mirrored the stars above.

 

Only time could tell if Aziraphale would face any consequences for doing the lewd and cruel work of a demon. Did he enjoy it just like Crowley enjoyed Heavenly deeds? Crowley did not give him the truly cruel missions, even when the angel explicitly asked for them, and until now, he did not seem to suspect anything. Could an angel even imagine what horrors Hell was capable of? Then again, humans could be crueller than demons, if they wanted to, and Aziraphale faced human horror daily. But that was free will, and thus part of some stupid, pustulent, greater plan.

Crowley still did not understand. But he did not tell Aziraphale ever again, because then the angel would surely explain to him, a sweet smile on his face, that this was the reason it’s called ‘ineffable’ and that Crowley couldn’t do anything about it. If there really was a grander scheme of things, it would be best to stick with it, but Aziraphale was determined to keep their Arrangement going, so Crowley cooperated.

And if he was being honest with himself, Crowley knew that Aziraphale needed no protecting from Godly wrath, especially not from him. Some petty demon. Aziraphale was a bit of a moron and a nervous wreck sometimes, but he was stronger than him, surely. Why would Crowley even think that the Guardian of the Eastern Gate needed someone to _guard him_?

Deep down, he wondered – Was it the same reason for which he ate dinner with him over and over, or trembled when that feeling of love tickled his skin?

Surely it was more about ‘wanting to protect’ than ‘needing to protect’, Crowley thought bitterly as he said goodbye to his demonic nature once and for all. Only time would tell if this worked out. Little did he know that the reason he wanted to guard his angel from harm was the very same reason for which Aziraphale had agreed to their Arrangement in the first place. Another thousand years would pass before either of them realised. And then, they would be fine.

But for now, Crowley was scared. He burnt the Coat of Stars some years later and cried when he found that the flames had not devoured his carefully bottle-up feelings like they had burnt the silk. Rather, they had pushed him to swear that he would never let anyone or anything hurt that angel. It was like a brand mark in his chest. Crowley wept as the flames turned the silk coat into ashes, and with it, the gold-embroidered stars. Heaven’s gift. Aziraphale's gift.

If only they could run away from all of this.


End file.
